


Your first sin was a lie you told yourself

by kawuli



Series: Smiles and Promises [6]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, District 6, F/F, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9741212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawuli/pseuds/kawuli
Summary: Rokia's always been a fighter, and nobody knows that better than Sara does.So sure: the odds are never going to be in District Six's favor, but when Rokia is reaped, Sara's got to believe she can come back.But surviving the Games is just the beginning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Turned my back, felt the knife sink deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944568) by [kawuli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawuli/pseuds/kawuli). 



> If you read about Sara [as a rebel in District Nine](https://archiveofourown.org/series/348665)... this is where it all started.

It’s Sara’s first year out of the Reaping, and she’s got the day off, in Six, and she’s mostly anxious for the bullshit to be over so she can snag Rokia to go get drinks, or head up to the roof of her building, or just ride the El for a while, or…

She’s thinking about after, so it takes a second to react when the idiot fucking Capitol escort says Rokia’s name. That and she pronounces it all wrong. And it’s not possible.

Except that it is, because Rokia’s walking up to stand on the stage, tense and angry and wide-eyed, and she doesn’t see Sara in the crowd behind the kids, doesn’t really look, just stares out over everyone until they’ve called the boy and both of them go into the Justice Building.

Sara stands stock-still for a minute after the doors close, as though maybe if she doesn’t move it won’t be real, as though she’s dreaming and can’t wake up.

But it’s real. It’s happening, right now, and she has to figure out what to do next.

She runs into Matt at the door to the Justice Building. “I—“ Sara starts, can’t think what to say next. “Fuck!”

Matt shakes his head. “C’mon, we gotta see what she wants us to do,” he says, pulling open the doors.

Right. There will be things that need doing. Rokia’s always got a list about as long as her arm of shit she’s working on, whether it’s at the shop or for her girls or whatever, there’s always something. Sara takes a deep breath and follows Matt in.

One of the Victors is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. “Where’s Rokia?” Matt asks, and he points to a door.

Matt goes over, puts his hand on the knob and looks at Sara. She takes a deep breath, nods, and they go in.

Rokia’s sitting on a bench along the wall, knees pulled up, pulling at strings from the frayed hem of her jeans. She looks up when the door opens, drops her feet to the floor and stands up.

Sara runs over and hugs her, tight, because she has to. Rokia pulls away, and they both swipe impatiently at their eyes. No time for that.

“You gotta tell Sal to keep an eye on the girls,” Rokia says. “Magda’s on the train right now, she can’t take them, it’s gotta be him.”

Matt nods. “I’d take them if I could,” he says, “But my mom’d kill me.”

Rokia shrugs. “I know,” she says. Closes her eyes, bites her lip in concentration. “There’s some cash rolled up in the toe of my old work boots. Hold onto that ‘till Magda comes back, she’ll be less pissed that way.”

“Rokia—“ Sara starts, but Rokia just glares at her.

“Stuff at the shop’s mostly fine,” she says, looking at Matt. “Sal’s gonna have to find someone else to get into those access panels, Sidi might be able to do it.”

Matt nods. Rokia thinks again, shakes her head. “I dunno, I think that’s it, I—“ she stops, takes a deep breath and digs the heels of her hands into her eyes. When she looks at Sara again she just looks tired.

“You can’t get back with the girls in time,” she says, dully. “Tell them I love them.” She swallows hard, and Sara hugs her again. This time Rokia buries her face in Sara’s shoulder, lets Sara hold her close for a long time.

Matt looks at his watch, then at Sara. “They’re gonna kick us out in a minute,” he says.

Rokia steps away. “Come back,” Sara says, hoarse past the lump in her throat. “I don’t care what you have to do, just come back.”

Rokia smiles, sad. “I’ll try,” she says. “Hell, I’ve stayed alive this long.”

It’s bleakly funny, honestly. Because it damn sure wasn’t a given, not when Rokia’s been stripping copper wire out of abandoned houses for rent money, reconnecting cut off electricity with jumper cables, swiping food anywhere she gets a chance, and if it’s anything like last year Rokia probably spent last night fifteen feet up in the scaffolding at the hovercraft plant hauling new machinery into place. Just like she’s been doing since Sal got the contract four years ago.

“You’re stubborn enough,” Matt says. “If anyone can get through an Arena on pure spite and bullheadedness, it’s you.”

Rokia giggles at that, a little wild. “It’s true,” she says, shaking her head. “Fuck those guys, I got shit to do back here.”

Sara smiles, shakes her head.

The door opens, and a Peacekeeper steps in. “Time’s up,” he says.

Sara hugs Rokia one last time, then Matt gives her a quick hug, squeezes her shoulder when he lets go. “We’ll see you soon,” he says, his voice low and husky.

Rokia nods.

They walk out, and the door closes.

Sara closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then sees the Victor, still standing there. And she can’t help Rokia with whatever’s going to happen next, but he can. “You bring her back,” Sara says, walking towards him, fists clenching automatically.

“Sara,” Matt calls, and Sara spins. “Come on, let’s go find Sal.”

Sara nods, gives the Victor a last look and follows Matt out.

 

“He’ll be at the factory,” Matt says, walking across the near-empty square. The nearby streets are busy, bars full, knots of kids in alleys passing bottles or cigarettes or slumped against the walls. It’s a party now, day off, time to celebrate still being alive by getting too fucked up to appreciate it. Welcome to District fucking Six. And mom wondered why she wanted out so bad.

“Walk or bus?” Matt asks. “It’s a little far, but I don’t know when the next bus comes.”

“Walk,” Sara says. Keep moving, it’s better that way.

It’s not far enough that Sara’s ready to deal with anything. Probably wouldn’t be even if they walked all the way to Eight. But she follows Matt in, to where Sal’s watching someone load up old machinery on a truck to send out for disassembly.

He looks up when he sees them, looks confused.

Shit. He’s been here all morning. No TVs here. He doesn’t know.

“They picked Rokia,” Matt says, when they’re close enough he doesn’t have to shout.

Sal’s eyes go wide. “Fuck off,” he says. “No way.”

Matt nods. “Yeah.”

Sal runs a hand over his head, down his face. “Fuck,” he says, soft.

“She said to tell you to look out for her girls,” Sara snaps.

Sal nods. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “They’re with Jack right now, at Magda’s friend’s place, she’s not back for another couple weeks.” He looks up at the skyline, glances at Matt. “You seen Mata at all?”

Sara snorts. It’s rude, and Sal gives her a dirty look, but come on. That woman’s worse than useless.

Matt shakes his head. “They’re staying at that squat over on 8th,” he says. Sal rolls his eyes.

Sara bites back the comment that at least there nobody’s running a fucking meth lab out of the kitchen, or that maybe if Sal’d fronted Rokia deposit money they’d have been able to go someplace legal, or any of the other retorts she’d like to fling at him. Because they need him—Rokia’s girls need him, because Sara’s out again tomorrow morning and Matt’s got no space and less money, and there isn’t anyone else.

“Once this is done you and me’ll go get the girls and see what’s up,” Sal says. “But we gotta finish this.”

Sara almost walks out and goes over there herself. But she wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to do with the kids once she was there. And she definitely can’t go back to the crew barracks, everyone there’ll be celebrating and she’ll probably end up punching someone.

“I’ll help,” she decides.

Sal raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Hasn’t been _that_ long,” Sara says. “Just tell me what to do.”

She ends up wiring up the new machinery as it’s put in place. And it turns out she does still remember how to do this. Still enjoys fitting everything together, especially since it gives her something to think about besides what Rokia might be doing right now, where the train’ll be, every fucking thing else.

They’re finished and tested and cleaned up in time for the night shift to come back on, and Sal loads the tools into his truck and looks over at Sara and Matt.

“Come on,” he says, tired. “Let’s go see what we can do.”

Magda’s friend lives not far from the Justice Building, in a nice apartment. She’s holding her own baby when she comes to the door, and looking annoyed. “Oh good,” she says. “Come in, those poor girls haven’t quit pestering me all day.”

Jack runs over as soon as they get inside. “Daddy!” he says, and Sal smiles, scoops him up, sets him on his hip.

They walk into the living room, and Allie and Kadi are sitting close together on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.

Sara snaps it off, furious. That’s not what they need to see. Allie looks up, glares at her. “We wanna see Rokia,” she says.

“I keep trying to tell them to quit,” the woman says. “They just go turn it back on.”

“Come on, girls,” Sal says, stern. They look up. Allie glares at him for a minute, then slides down to stand.

“C’mon Kadi,” she says, sulky, and Kadi slides down next to her.

“Uncle Sal why’d she have to go?” Kadi asks.

Sara wants to scream. Sal sighs. “Because the Capitol needs her,” he says, resigned. “Come on now, we’re gonna go find your mom.”

Sara and Matt sit in the back of the truck, the kids crowed together with Sal in the cab.

“This is bullshit,” Sara snaps, once they’re moving and the wind’s loud enough Sal won’t hear her. “He knows Mata, she’s not gonna do shit.”

Matt sighs, shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “But what’s the alternative?”

“They should go stay with Sal!” Sara snaps.

“He’s gonna be busy at the shop,” Matt says. “Jack’ll go to crew day care, while Magda’s gone, but that’s just for crew kids. Somebody’s gotta watch them.”

Sara seethes, but it’s not like she can stay and take care of them, she’d lose her job.

And there’s the problem, right there. Rokia always managed to juggle keeping the girls occupied in the office after school, well enough she could still get some work done, and Sal didn’t mind her checking in on them even if Magda grumbled. But that was Rokia. Who’s not here.

“He could at least let them sleep at his place,” Sara grumbles.

“If Mata can manage it they’ll be okay at home,” Matt says, and that’s perfectly reasonable except for the part where Rokia’s fucking mother can’t manage to keep _herself_ fed half the time, much less two little girls.

“She can’t,” Sara says. “You seriously think she can?”

Matt shrugs. “They’re her kids. Maybe she can pull it together.”

They’re talking like it’s temporary, Sara realizes. They’re talking like it’s for a few weeks, and Sara hopes like hell it is but the reality is it’s way more likely to be permanent.

“And if Rokia doesn’t come back? You’re just gonna leave those girls there?”

Matt lets out a long breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” he says, a little annoyed. “I’ll try and check in on them, sure, but it’s not like I can take them home to my mom. Anyway, I don’t see you jumping to take them.”

Sara scowls. “I can’t very well load them up on a cargo train, and if I quit my job I won’t be much good to them anyway.”

“See?” Matt says. “It’s not easy.”

It’s not, of course it’s not, it’s just—wrong, all of it. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with this fucking country,” Sara hisses, half under her breath because there’s some things you don’t say out loud no matter how pissed off you are.

“You want that by district or by date?” Matt shoots back.

Sara sighs. They’re getting close to Rokia’s place. Sal pulls over in front of the building, turns off the car, gets out to open the door for the girls.

Sara bangs on the door, and wonder of wonders but Mata opens it. And Sara wouldn’t even know what the woman looked like sober but she’s at least coherent. “Hey, there’s my girls,” she says, as Allie and Kadi duck in behind her. They turn around to watch from inside.

“Guess you saw about Rokia,” Sal says, stepping forward. Sara steps to the side, keeps a wary eye on the woman. Who has the fucking nerve to look like she’s about to start crying.

“I can’t believe they took my girl,” she says, her voice quavering. Sara’s teeth grind. “I dunno what I’m gonna do without her.”

“You’re going to have to look after your other two,” Sal says, harsh. “She’s not here to do it for you and I ain’t got time.”

Mata nods, bites her lip, and oh for fuck’s sake she is actually crying. “They took my girl, Sal,” she repeats.

Sal sighs. “I gotta go, Mata,” he says. “I’ll send somebody over to check on you tomorrow.”

“I can come,” Matt says, from behind Sal.

Mata looks at him. Looks him over like she’s judging. “Alright,” she says, straightening up. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

And that’s a fucking calculating look right there, Sara has a hard time not stepping forward and slapping the woman. Matt looks a little confused.

“Goodnight, Mata,” Sal says.

“G’night,” she says, pushes the door closed.

“We’ll take the El from here,” Sara says. Matt looks at her, raises an eyebrow. He’s tired, she should maybe just agree to go with Sal, but nope.

“Okay,” Sal says. “See you tomorrow Matt. Sara, take care, thanks for the help.”

“Sure thing,” Sara says, trying not to snap at him.

Matt starts walking. “What’s up?” he asks.

“She’s gonna try some kinda bullshit with you,” Sara says.

“Rokia’s mom?” Matt asks, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know her,” Sara says.

“Yeah, so?”

“So she’s gonna weasel money out of you, get you to do stuff for her, bring shit for the girls she can sell.”

Matt shrugs.

“Shit,” Sara remembers. “You gotta get that cash Rokia was talking about, and don’t you fucking dare give it to that woman. Give it to Magda when she comes back, ask if she’ll take the girls for a while.”

Matt sighs. “Sara,” he says. “You know how she is, there’s no way she’ll take them indefinitely.”

“It’s not indefinitely,” Sara snaps, because dammit, she’s going to keep believing that as long as she possibly can. “It’s till the end of the Games.”

“You don’t know that,” Matt says.

Sara wants to scream. “If she doesn’t come back we’ll figure out something else,” she snaps. “I’m not leaving her girls with that woman, she’ll come back and kick my ass if she has to rise from the dead to do it.”

Matt laughs a little, startled. They’re at the El station, walk into bright lights, steel and concrete. “Alright,” he says. “Fine, I’ll talk to her when she gets back.”

 

There’s too many people around to want to keep talking about this shit, once they get to the platform, onto the train. Matt gets off first, three stops down where it’s a little less sketchy but still crowded. Even Sara doesn’t blame his mom for not wanting two more people when there’s already five of them in a one-bedroom place.

“You take care,” Matt says, getting up as the train starts to slow.

Sara stands up too, hugs him. Wonders when he ended up so much taller than her. “Thanks,” she says, stepping away. “I’ll stop in when I get back, see if I can’t save something to bring along.”

Matt nods. The doors open, he steps out, and Sara watches him head down the stairs as the train pulls away.

 

Sara walks to the barracks more or less on autopilot, trying to think about what options there even are for Rokia’s sisters. They have a grandmother, Sara met her once at Sal’s place, but she’s on the district trains and lives way to hell and gone up north. There’s Sal and Magda, and Magda won’t take them. There’s their mom, for all the good that doesn’t fucking do. And there’s her and Matt. Technically, there’s also the Community Home, but Sara doesn’t even want to think about that.

So she’s preoccupied when she walks into the common room and the noise hits her like something physical. It’s not that late, but plenty of people have been drinking since noon, and even the folks that stayed here rather than go out to a bar are pretty rowdy.

Shit.

She goes up to her room. It’s empty, thankfully, the other bunks undisturbed. Sara sits on her bed, leans back against the wall. She can hear music and laughter and yelling from the common room even here, there’s no escaping it.

Well, hell. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. She stands up, looks herself over, decides she doesn’t give enough of a shit to change, just pulls the elastic out of her hair and shakes it lose before she heads downstairs.

Somebody’s ammassed a pretty good collection of bottles on a table in the corner, so Sara heads that way. Makes herself a drink, strong, sips at it while she looks around. She spots Myriam in a knot of people on the other side of the room, makes her way over.

“Hey!” Myriam calls, when she sees Sara. “You disappeared, where were you?”

Sara swallows. “Had to see a couple friends,” she says, trying for casual. “Just got back, apparently I’ve got some catching up to do.”

A different day Myriam might’ve noticed, but tonight she just reaches her glass toward Sara. “Cheers,” she says, takes a drink.

It’s like there’s a pane of glass between Sara and everybody else. She lets herself get pulled into the circle, hears some stories from the folks on other crews, laughs at the right places. But it’s distant, unreal. She slips out for a smoke with Rick, takes the excuse to walk down to the store and buy herself a pack. Tries not to do that too often, but it’s comforting, and right now she needs that.

Myriam comes out while she’s smoking the next one, leaned up against the wall and watching the lights in town. She’s got two cups, hands one to Sara. “Trade you?” she asks, and Sara pulls the pack out of her pocket and holds it towards Myriam. Once Myriam has hers lit she looks over at Sara. “What’s wrong?” she asks, all drunk sincerity. “You’re all quiet.”

Sara shrugs, takes a drink. Fidgets with her cigarette. “You know the girl I was telling you about?” she says finally.

“Oh no, did she break up with you?” Myriam’s face falls.

Sara laughs, harsh. “She got Reaped,” she says, and it still sounds fucking crazy.

“Oh my god!” Myriam says. “Oh no, oh honey, c’mere.”

Sara lets Myriam hug her, hooks her chin over Myriam’s shoulder and sighs. “Aw, girl, I’m sorry,” Myriam says. “That’s horrible.”

Sara steps back, takes a long drink, looks up at the sky. She really doesn’t want to start crying right now.

“Come on,” Myriam says, takes Sara’s hand and pulls her into the building, straight through the common room and up three flights of stairs to the roof. She sits down on one of the pallets somone brought up here for something a little less uncomfortable than the tar and gravel, pulls Sara down next to her.

At which point the stinging in Sara’s eyes is just too much and she leans against Myriam’s shoulder and lets the tears come.

Myriam just waits, until Sara’s done. “I just—I can’t _do_ anything,” Sara says, sitting up and looking back out over the city. “She’s gotta go to the fucking Capitol and a fucking Arena”—just thinking about it makes Sara shudder—“And I have to what, sit here and watch on fucking television?”

Myriam sighs. “That sucks,” she says.

“It’s just _wrong_ ,” Sara says, and she knows she shouldnt. “The whole thing, it’s fucking—“ she waves a hand vaguely, not even sure what she’d say if she could.

She looks down to find her cup so she doesn’t have to see Myriam’s reaction. Turns it between her palms, eyes on the cheap plastic as if it could tell her something.

Myriam sighs. “It is,” she says, barely loud enough for Sara to hear. The trains are bugged and the barracks are probably bugged and the fucking entire country might be, and it’s insane how dangerous it is just to say that much. Just “it’s wrong,” not even “I want to hop a train into the Capitol and set the whole damn place on fire.” Just _talking._

She glances over at Myriam, who’s unsmiling, mouth pinched and hard. Their eyes meet, and it’s almost like wanting to kiss someone except this is way more serious. A connection. An ally, maybe.

Myriam looks away, finishes her drink. Sara’s is almost gone too, and she swallows the last of it fast enough to burn.

“Where’re you bunking?” Myriam asks. “You look tired.”

Sara shrugs. “Too noisy,” she says.

“Take mine,” Miriam offers. “I got enough seniority to be down near the end, it’ll be quieter.”

Sara hesitates. “You don’t mind?”

Myriam shakes her head. “Nah, I’ll sleep through it.”

“Okay,” Sara agrees, follows Myriam down the stairs.

It is quieter in Myriam’s room. Sara drops her things, takes a hot shower, blatantly disregarding the 5-minute rule, and climbs into bed.

Rokia will be in the Capitol by now. Sara stares up at the bottom of the bunk above her. _Please_ , she thinks, _please come home._ It’s a couple thousand miles away, telepathy isn’t real, and nobody can control this shit, but she thinks it anyway, over and over until she finally falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

They ship out the next day. Sara’s the least hungover of the whole crew, even Myriam’s looking bleary and annoyed. But it’s a straight shot out to Nine, they won’t get there till almost midnight, so once they’re loaded and going everyone but Sara and Keita head for their bunks.

Keita, because he’s the boss, and Sara, because in here she can watch the TV.

She hates this shit. Hates the stupid fluffy people twittering about stupid nonsense problems and their clueless fucking comments. But she’ll put up with it because they’re talking about her girl and she needs to know what’s happening.

There’s pictures of the trains coming in, crowds pressing against barriers, floodlights for the ones who arrived late at night, and there’s Rokia, and the other Six kid, and two older guys she thinks are both Victors, and Rokia’s jaw is set and she’s watching everything. Camera flashes are going off all around her but she doesn’t even blink, just follows somebody down the platform and into a car.

And that’s it, they’re on to other districts, pretty kids from Four and Two and One make better stories, it’s always like that and probably always will be. Sara tries to think. It was a Four girl who won last year, in a flood. Before that, District Three and explosions. Before that…she’s not sure. There was the year with the 12-year-olds, there was Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason and those siblings from One who’re always on TV. The girl with the teeth, that was fucked up…and that’s about as far as she can get without looking it up. Six hasn’t won since before she was born, she knows that much.

What’s she trying to prove with this, anyway? It’s shitty odds no matter how you look at it. Rokia’s clever and strong but she’s also small and she’s been overworked since forever but fixing hovercraft isn’t exactly going to be useful for…well, for killing people.

And that’s the other thing. Rokia’s gotten in fights before, they all have. But it’s one thing to kick a junkie in the balls when he tries to steal your paycheck, or even to cut someone who jumps you in a back alley. It’s different to think about killing somebody. Some kid, who doesn’t deserve it any more than you do. Sara shudders.

She’s staring off into space, watching the plains roll by outside, when the anthem blares and the Capitol seal flashes onto the screen and they start the Parade.

Last year they’d watched at Sal’s, because Sal takes mandatory television seriously unless there’s a seriously rushed job to do. Year before it’d been Kalifa, from school, and it’d been weird to see him on TV when she’d bummed a cigarette from him a week earlier, but she didn’t _know_ him, not really.

It’s stranger still to be watching fucking chariots with horses—and seriously, horses? Chariots? The Capitol is weird—watching them come out and waiting to see Rokia. When she comes out it’s even weirder. Sara’s not sure she’s ever seen Rokia in anything but jeans and work shirts. Doesn’t think she owns anything else. And here she is, in a skimpy skirt and tight top with her hair teased out and makeup making her face all but unrecognizable. Sara’s face flushes and her jaw clenches, because they’ve made her girl into some kind of sexy… _thing_ , and it’s wrong. It’s wrong because Sara’s seen Rokia naked and she still looked less exposed then than now. Not to mention…Rokia isn’t shaped like that. Rokia’s too damn skinny to look like that.

By the time it’s over Sara realizes she has a headache from clenching her jaw, hard, through the whole thing, ducks out through the bunks and out, up onto the top of the first boxcar where she can sit with her back to the wind and try to breathe.

She’s going to have to get used to this. Tonight is just the beginning. It’s going to be _weeks,_ hopefully, as long as Rokia can survive, and Sara has to do her job and she has to be able to keep her shit together. She can’t let it get to her.

Still, she stays up there until they get to the river, then scrambles down to get ready to swap cargo.

 

Sara keeps watching, when she’s on shift, keeps one eye on the indicators and the other on the TV screen in case there’s leaked training footage or something. But there’s barely a mention of Rokia. “Is it always this dumb?” Sara asks Myriam, a couple days later when they’re talking about the Two boy getting caught kissing the One girl in training.

“Sure,” Myriam says, “You’re just usually not paying attention.”

Sara acknowledges the point. “I just don’t get it,” she says, goes to adjust the voltage settings.

 

They announce the training scores. Rokia gets an 8. By the time they’ve gone through all 12 districts, Rokia’s score is higher than anyone who isn’t a Career. The announcers are full of speculation, but Sara can only hope it means her girl will have a chance.

 

The night of the interviews they’re stopped in Twelve, overnight layover where nobody’ll be tempted to try and go out on the town, chance to check everything over before they head back to Six.

Sara remembered how boring the interviews were. She hadn’t remembered how _sad_ they were. Oh sure, the Careers are all practiced bravado and posturing and bullshit, but there’s little kids out there on stage, out of their districts for the first time in their lives, and they’re all trying to be brave but the girl from Three is literally shaking, her voice barely audible, the boy from Five stutters. Rokia comes out and looks angry, to anybody who doesn’t know her, but Sara’s seen her truly angry, and this is different. This is her angry because she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s scared. And Caesar fucking Flickerman doesn’t help anything by asking about her family. He gets snapped one-word answers which is what he damn well deserves.

And then, “Well, Rokia, we’re all dying to know how you impressed the Gamemakers yesterday. Eight! What a shocker!”

And Rokia smiles, sharp-edged and mean. "Well," she says, "I think those are secret, but I'll just say that in Six we learn to fight the hard way."

Sara bursts out laughing. That’s straight-up schoolyard posturing right there, or the kind of shit Rokia’ll pull if someone teases her for being underage at a bar. Caesar loves it, the crowd loves it, and time’s up so Rokia heads back to her seat.

 

Sara can’t sleep. The interviews finished late, they have to be out of here early tomorrow, she should be sleeping. She can’t. She’s pacing, up and down, outside next to the track, well inside the designated perimeter not that anyone cares much in Twelve.

She can’t _do_ anything. Her girl is going to be fighting for her life in the morning and Sara can’t do a damn thing about it. Her pacing takes her back by the crew bunks, and a shadow detaches from the side of the train. Myriam falls in step next to Sara.

“If you’re tryin’ to walk home it’ll take a while,” Myriam says, mildly.

It’s supposed to make her laugh. Sara can’t, though. “I don’t know what to do,” she says. “I can’t even help.”

“We’ll be in Six tomorrow,” Myriam says. “You could go check on those girls.”

“We gotta load up, it’s not a layover,” Sara says.

Myriam shrugs. “We’ll survive without you for a couple hours,” she says. “I already asked Keita.”

Sara glances over at her. They’re coming to the end of the fence. Sara stops, looks at Myriam. Who’s smiling. “We’re all pulling for her, Sara,” Myriam says. “We don’t have the kinda money for sending anything to the Arena, but we can give you a couple hours.”

Sara turns, starts walking again. “Thanks,” she says.

When they get back to the bunks Myriam stops, puts a hand on Sara’s arm to stop her. “Come on,” she says. “No use wearing out your shoes.”

Sara sighs. “Alright, fine,” she says, and follows Myriam in.

 

Sara must have fallen asleep at some point because the bell wakes her up out of a dream where she and Rokia were being chased by monsters. Real subtle there, subconscious. And she fell asleep, but she didn’t sleep _well_ or long enough and she feels like her brain’s at the other end of a staticky radio connection.

But she manages to get herself out to the engine and checking brakes and throttle and they’re out and moving by the time the TV comes on.

Everybody’s here. Myriam’s standing behind Sara, both hands on Sara’s shoulders, and she squeezes once, a reminder. Sara tries to take deep breaths, but her heart’s racing. The cameras follow the girl from Four, up the tube and out, a second to adjust and the camera pans out to show the Arena.

It’s a city. It could be Six, one of the ghost towns on the north track that’re long since abandoned, buldings tumbling in on themselves. It’s grey and damp and hard to see very far and there’ll be bent rebar and broken glass and Sara should try not to hope but that train’s long since left the station. It’s better than a forest. Better than a blizzard or a desert.

The camera pans around the circle, tight focus on the kids’ faces. Sara tries not to pay attention to the little ones, wide eyed, some crying, all terrified. The Careers stand tensed and ready, eyes narrowed, fixed on the prizes scattering the ground toward the Cornucopia.

And Rokia’s looking around, alert, and sure she’ll be scared but she’s focused, Sara can see it even in the bare seconds the camera waits before moving on. Myriam squeezes her shoulders again, and Sara lets out the breath she’d been holding. The clock ticks down. The camera pans up, above the Cornucopia, and the clock hits zero.

Sara can just barely track Rokia in the chaos—and only because she’s running away. Up and over a low wall and she’s out of sight and disappears out of the camera’s view.

And Sara’s seen the bloodbath before, any number of times, but it’s always felt unreal.

Not today.

Today she can’t stand to watch and can’t look away, and when it’s done the joking banter the Careers fall into turns her stomach, sick and wrong with bodies scattered, bleeding out into the rain-soaked concrete.

Finally the cameras shift, tracking all the kids who escaped. Rokia’s still moving, slowed from a run to a quick walk, still alert and focused and good, that’s good.

“Sara,” Keita says, quiet, “how’s the brake temp?”

Sara jumps. She wasn’t watching. “It’s…it’s fine,” she says, checking. The camera’s moved on, anyway. She shakes off the feeling she needs to wash up, to scrub blood off her hands, and goes back to work.

 

They get to town in the evening, after a stop to drop off coal for the smelters in Warren. Keita comes over to her as she’s detaching a coupling. “Go,” he says. “It’s okay.”

Sara doesn’t need to be told twice.

She fidgets all the way on the El, wondering if it’s extra slow today for some reason, but probably she’s just in a hurry. Gets off and jogs all the way to Rokia’s house.

She bangs on the door hard, and it takes a minute for someone to open it. And when it opens Sara’s startled, until she looks down and sees Allie, peering solemnly out at her.

“Hi Allie,” Sara says. “Can I come in?”

Allie nods, opens the door the rest of the way.

It’s dim inside, the lights are off and that could be because the power’s disconnected or because nobody remembered to turn on a light. Once Sara’s eyes adjust she sees Rokia’s mom, asleep on the couch. Kadi’s sitting on the floor in front of it, and Allie goes to sit next to her.

Sara doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to do with kids generally, what to do with this fucked up situation, doesn’t know if there’s anything she _can_ do in the hour or so she has before she has to be back at the loading docks.

“How’re you doing, girls?” she tries. Allie shrugs. Kadi sticks her lower lip out.

“Mom said she’d get us supper but she fell asleep,” Kadi says. “We tried waking her up but she just goes back to sleep.”

“Kadi—“ Allie starts, glances at Sara, confused, stops.

Okay. Well then there’s one thing she can do.

“Come on, we’ll go get food,” Sara says. Kadi brightens, jumps up. Allie follows, more hesitant.

“We don’t got money,” Allie says.

“That’s okay,” Sara says. Allie still looks unsure. “Rokia told me I should look out for you,” Sara tries. That gets a little more interest. “So I’m just doing your sister a favor, I owe her a few.”

“Okay,” Allie says, finally. It’s disconcerting, a six-year-old kid staring at her like it’s a test or an interrogation. Sara’s grateful when Allie looks away, takes Kadi’s hand. “Let’s go.”

 

There’s a handful of cheap diners around here, none of them anywhere Sara’d go if she had a choice, but she doesn’t have time to take the girls somewhere nicer and get them back before she has to leave. So it’s rice and beans and sauce and the tables are sticky and Sara very pointedly does not think about the state the kitchen’s probably in. The girls don’t mind—don’t seem to notice, too busy eating. Sara bites her tongue on the string of profanity she’d like to aim at their mom, the slightly less intense version she’s got saved up for Sal and maybe Matt.

Kadi looks up, her plate clean. “When’s Rokia coming back?” she asks.

Allie looks up too. Sara swallows. “I’m not sure,” she settles for. “Hopefully in a couple weeks.” It’s a cop-out. But what’s she supposed to say? “You girls done?” They nod.

Sara pays, walks them back to the house, trying to think.

“Allie, do you think you could get there and back okay on your own?” she asks.

Allie looks affronted. “It’s only four blocks,” she says. “School’s way farther.”

Sara smiles at the stubborn kid pride. “Sorry, of course,” she says. So when they get to the door, Sara stops them. Pulls out a few bills, hands them to Allie. “That’s for if your mom forgets again,” Sara says. Allie looks at the money, looks at Sara, serious. “Keep it hidden real good, okay? It’s for you, not for your mom.”

Again, the affronted look. It’s not as funny this time.“I know how to hide stuff,” she says, “And Rokia says don’t give mom money, it’s the rules.”

“Okay,” Sara says. She waits for Allie to put the cash in her pocket, then pushes the door open. She shakes Mata’s shoulder until she blinks, wakes up.

When she sees Sara she jerks away and sits up. “What do you want?” she asks.

“I want you to take care of your fucking kids,” Sara snaps. “They were waiting on you for their supper.”

Mata’s eyes narrow. “This ain’t none of your business,” she snarls. “You just stay out of it.”

Sara’s this close to yelling, until she sees Allie pulling Kadi back against her, backing away. Shit. Fucking…fuck, no, she’s not doing this.

“I’ll stay out of it when you do your damn job,” Sara snaps, turns to head for the door. She makes herself stop halfway there, look over at the girls. “Allie, I’ll be back in a week or so, okay? I’ll come say hi.”

Allie nods, but doesn’t move. Sara can feel Mata’s glare, but she doesn’t look over. She can’t. She walks out, closes the door, and manages not to scream.

She’s going to be late as is, she can’t go to the shop, and even odds Matt’s already gone home, and Sara doesn’t trust herself not to scream at Sal, so she heads back to the train.

 

* * *

 

Rokia keeps her head down for the first couple days. It’s good, probably, but it means Sara barely sees her. When the cameras remember she exists, they find her hiding out on roofs, making her way through the streets, collecting drips from broken drain pipes. So she’s got water, fine, but there’s no food out there, few dry places and nowhere safe to sleep. Which leaves her looking drained, exhausted and slow.

It’s fucked up, but it reminds Sara of the weeks after Kadi was born. Rokia’s mom couldn’t nurse her, for some fucking reason, fucked off with her friends and left Rokia to deal with Allie and the whiniest, neediest newborn Sara’s ever heard of. For two solid weeks at least Kadi’d scream any time she wasn’t being held. It’s the only time Sara’s seen Rokia truly and completely overwhelmed.

Kadi seems to be determined to make up for it now by being the friendliest little kid in the district, and between Sara and a couple of the shop guys’ wives they at least managed to get Rokia a few hours to sleep most days, but still, it was months before Rokia looked like herself again.

But that’s what Rokia looks like now. Sunken red-rimmed eyes and too-sharp cheekbones and anytime she doesn’t have to be moving she’s completely still. It’s early morning of the fourth day of the Games, Sara’s finishing a graveyard shift, and Rokia’s sitting in a corner, knees drawn up, head back resting on the dirty concrete, eyes closed. Maybe sleeping, but it’s hard to tell.

As it gets lighter she opens her eyes, looks around her, scrambles up to stand. And Rokia usually moves every few hours but there’s something about the way she’s standing now that makes Sara sit up and pay attention. She just gets more sure she’s right when Rokia heads toward the Cornucopia.

The morning shift comes in, but Sara just shifts over to where she can see the TV better. Must not be too much else interesting happening, because the camera follows Rokia all the way to a lookout spot in a building on the edge of the square.

There’s three of the Careers there, in their cozy little clubhouse, warm and safe and out of the rain. It’s the One girl, the boys from Two and Four. And the One girl couldn’t be doing a better job of creating a distraction if Sara’d paid her to do it. She’s just wet enough that her clothes cling, translucent, just dirty enough to be gritty without being gross. Running fingers through her hair, posing and flirting with the Two boy and then actually sitting on him, straddling his lap and sticking her tongue down his throat—and that’s when Rokia dashes across to the Cornucopia, hides behind it. Sara’s heart races, while Rokia snatches packets of food and shoves them into her jacket. And then something shifts, makes a noise, and the Two boy is apparently not as distracted as he looks. “Hey!” he calls, shifting the girl off him to stand up. “You wanna do your Games-damned job and see what's making that noise instead of staring?"

The Four boy rolls his eyes and heads reluctantly toward the Cornucopia. But Rokia saw what Sara didn’t notice (and that’s not surprising, ever)—there’s a sewer grate just there, too narrow for most people to fit but Rokia’s small and slides through easily. By the time Four boy gets to where she was she’s gone, like she was never there.

“Somebody took some shit,” Four boy says, looking at the piles—and really? He can tell?

“Dammit, Four,” the Two boy says, annoyed, but not that mad.

"Hey!" The Four boy calls back, affronted. "You were the one making out."

"Boys," the girl calls. Two boy stops glaring at Four boy, smirks up at the girl, pulls her back towards him and asks, “Now, where were we?”

By the time the camera goes back to Rokia she’s crawling out of the sewer, soaked and filthy but safe, alive and unharmed. She ducks into a building and looks at her stash.

It’s pitifully little, for how dangerous it was to get. All of it might feed Sara for a day. Rokia eats a few hurried handfuls of fruit and nuts, then stops, stashes everything and looks around. She doesn’t look better, really, but she’ll survive a little longer anyway.

 

Sara’s asleep, three days later, when someone shakes her awake. “I think something’s happening,” Rick says.

Sara’s awake fast at that, gets to the TV as the announcers start babbling about an upcoming confrontation and the screen splits, Rokia bent down drinking on one side, the girl from Nine sneaking through the rubble on the other—until Nine girl gets close enough they both fit in one wide-angle view.

Sara’s standing, back against the wall, when Myriam slips in and grabs her hand. Sara grips tight.

And then the Nine girl steps on something that shifts under her foot, makes a noise. Rokia doesn’t move right away, but she freezes, just for a second. Then she turns, slow and deliberate, and the Nine girl runs at her holding a knife like she’s in a kitchen.

Rokia blocks her first attempt on instinct, turns like she’s going to run—and then stops. Turns back as the girl swings again, and she’s too slow, the knife skids over her shoulder, blood welling up. But it’s pulled the Nine girl too close, off balance, and Rokia knocks her down. The knife skitters across the concrete and Rokia grabs it as the Nine girl’s standing up. She spins, low, brings the knife up, and Sal taught Rokia how to use a knife in a fight, she knows what to do. The blade slices into the girl’s thigh, deep, and blood sprays out, all over Rokia, the rubble, the wall behind.

Sara sucks in a breath, while Rokia shoves the knife into her belt and takes off. Feels like she can’t get enough air, sinks down to sit, back against the wall. It’s silent—someone must’ve put the TV back on mute, and nobody says anything until Sara shakes her head and says, “Well, she’s in it now.”

Nobody actually responds, but they take it as a cue to get back to work. Sara heads out, shakes her head when Myriam looks like she might follow. Climbs up onto a flatbed stacked with sacks of tesserae, stares back at the train snaking across the plains, and tries to decide how she feels.

Probably a nicer person would be upset at seeing their girlfriend kill somebody. Would feel bad for the Nine girl, who couldn’t have been any older than Rokia and was clearly even less prepared for a fight. Sara’s never been nice, though, and she doesn’t give a damn. She thinks about it for a minute, just to be sure, but no, it doesn’t change anything. She wishes Rokia didn’t have to do it, but she also wishes Rokia’s mom would quit being fucking useless, and that’s sure not happening any time soon either. Meanwhile, in the real world, it’s the Hunger Games, and her girl had the rotten fucking luck of getting Reaped, and everything after that is just how things go.

She heads back in, just in time to see a parachute drop towards where Rokia’s sitting on another roof. She opens the canister, her eyes lighting up as she pulls out packets of portable food of one sort or another. At the bottom there’s a metal bowl, warm enough to steam just a little in the always-damp air. Rokia curls her whole body around the heat, closing her eyes and breathing in. She twists the top open and smiles. It’s tesserae-meal porridge, with green sauce, and Sara _hates_ that shit but Rokia, bizarrely, loves it. Says her grandma used to make it. She eats it slowly, and when it’s done she collects everything and ducks inside for once to sleep where it’s drier.

 

They’re in Six again a couple days later, and Sara only has to glance at Keita before he mouths the word “go” and jerks his head toward the exits.

Don’t have to tell her twice.

She’s honestly worried, what she’ll find at Rokia’s house this time. The last thing she expects, though, is to find nothing.

But nothing’s what’s there. Door barred shut, windows dark, silent and grim. Sara stares for a long minute, checks the windows, but no, there’s nothing. So she heads for Sal’s shop. It takes just enough time for the fear to shift to scathing fury, so by the time she walks in it’s with clenched fists and aching jaw. Matt sees her first, runs over and grabs her arm, walks outside. She jerks her arm away and snarls at him. “Where are they. I swear if anything happened to them—“

“Sara, they’re fine,” Matt says, quick. “They’re with Magda.”

That helps. But— “She’s back already?”

“They called her back special,” Matt says. “Some guy from the Capitol came around yesterday. Apparently he found the girls at school, took them home, and started pitching a fit. That’s as much as I could get out of Allie, she told him to come here, he talked to Sal, they made some calls, Magda got in this morning and the girls went over there.”

There’s so much fucking weird in those couple sentences that Sara just stares for a minute. “What the fuck’s the Capitol doing poking around her house?” May as well start there.

“They’re down to 10 tributes, Sara. Couple more and it’s final eight.”

It takes a second to register. “They do interviews,” Sara remembers finally.

Matt nods. “I guess they send some guys out to track people down before the fancy interviewers come.”

Have there been any tributes from Six in the final eight? Sara doesn’t remember any. “Don’t they like sob stories and shit?” she asks.

Matt laughs, sharp. “Yeah, but they gotta be nice to look at. You think the Capitol wants to see the inside of that house?”

Sara has to grant that point. “So what about the rest of ‘em?” she asks.

Matt shrugs. “They were all living there illegally, Sara, I doubt they wanted to stick around with that much attention.”

“So they’re not gonna interview Mata?”

Matt shrugs. “Dunno. Last time I saw her she was pretty much a mess.”

“What, more than usual? That’d be a high bar.”

He sighs. “Rokia took care of her, too,” he says. Doesn’t elaborate, and Sara’s not sure she understands but she doesn’t push. “I think they took her to the hospital, but that’s just from overhearing Sal.”

“Waste of a fucking hospital bed,” Sara grumbles. “I came last week, she wasn’t even keeping the girls fed.”

“Allie told me,” Matt says, smiling a little. “She said you came and took them out to eat and yelled at their mom.”

Accurate, really, but it’s still sorta funny. “So you were checking on them?”

Matt looks offended. “Of course I was. Every couple days, when I didn’t have to get home right away.”

Sara looks at him. He’s not lying, he sucks at lying. And it’s not his fault, and he’s got family and a job and his own shit to deal with, so she really can’t blame him.

Matt nods. “They’ll be okay with Magda,” he says. “And it’s the Capitol asking so she won’t even be mad.”

“For now,” Sara grumbles. “Give it a week, then we’ll see.”

Matt gives her a complicated look. Probably she should be cutting them all a little more slack, but she’s not exactly feeling charitable. “I should get back in,” he says, but doesn’t move. Gives her a minute.

Sara sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Sorry,” she says grudgingly. “It’s not you, I just—“ she waves a hand vaguely, not sure how to say it.

“We’re all scared, Sara,” Matt says, quietly.

Sara scowls, looks out across the street. She hates it when Matt is right. And he is. That’s what’s winding her up so she’s snapping at everyone and everything. She’s scared as shit, because it’s been over a week and that still means probably another week, maybe two that Rokia has to survive, and it’s only gonna get harder. And all of this, Magda and the girls and Mata and all of it—Sara never really grasped just how much Rokia was holding together until she wasn’t here. They need her back, all of them, and the odds are never going to be in their favor.

She sighs, and Matt wraps an arm around her shoulders, sqeezes her toward his side. She leans against him a little. “Fuck, Matt,” she says, and damn him, now she’s going to cry. “I just…miss her.”

He sighs, hauls her close and hugs her for real. “I know,” he says. “Me too.”

Sara pulls away, digs the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and forces herself to calm down. Finally she trusts herself to look back up at Matt. “I gotta go,” she says, and it sounds dull and hollow but at least her voice doesn’t catch. “I’ll be back through in another week or so, I’ll try and get off again.”

Matt nods. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he says.

“Tell Allie I said hi,” Sara remembers—she said she’d see them, but there’s not time now, and hopefully Allie won’t be too mad.

Matt smiles at that. “I will. Take care.”

“You too.” Sara turns, reluctantly, and heads back to work.

 

They’re in Ten when the interviews start to come on, heading out of the city. They’ll play them out all day, because they can, just waiting for something interesting to happen. It’s District Six they go to first, though, and Mata appears, sitting across from a Capitol interviewer with pink hair and a smile that’s edging toward desperate. Mata they’ve tried to dress up, but really, even with the Capitol there’s only so much you can do. “Oh, she’s such a huge help,” she’s saying, “We’re just lost without her.” Sara snorts, and Rick gives her a funny look. She shakes her head and keeps quiet while Mata talks about how she moved with Rokia to the city, how hard it is to raise kids all by herself, how she hopes Rokia wins because they won’t have to worry anymore, they’ll be all taken care of. And then they cut away to the Arena, to where the Career kids that’re left are looking around for someone new to kill.

And Sara forces her shoulders down from around her ears, unclenches her jaw, and asks Rick for a cigarette.

She cracks the window over her bunk, sits blowing the smoke out into the slipstream. Tries not to imagine chaining Rokia’s mom to a wall while she detoxes, sticking her in a room somewhere and making her do _something_ for once, to make herself useful. To earn back even a fraction of what Rokia’s done for her. Tries to imagine how that woman can have the unrepentant gall to complain about how hard _her_ life is, when she hasn’t done shit for anybody in years.

A couple hours later there’s shots of the whole family, Allie and Kadi looking strange in unfamiliar fancy clothes, hair done. They’re standing outside Magda and Sal’s house, which apparently everyone’s decided to pretend is where Rokia lives. And there’s some guy standing next to Mata to make a whole happy family for some fucking reason, and Sara doesn’t really care what they have to say. But then the interviewer crouches down to talk to the girls. Allie’s gripping Kadi’s hand tight, pulls her close in, her eyes darting around like she’s checking for danger. Her eyes are wide but she’s trying to be brave, and is her voice is quiet but steady. “We want her to do real good, so she can come home soon,” Allie says, and from the careful way she says it Sara’s guessing she’s reciting something memorized. “We miss her a whole lot,” she adds, and the interviewer beams.

And then they switch to Sal’s shop, and Sara can’t help laughing at how uncomfortable Salif looks, in a neat pressed shirt and pants, hands awkward at his sides. “She’s a real good mechanic,” Sal’s saying, “I figured she’d do okay, always took care of herself.” It’s not quite as rehearsed as the girls, but Sal’s pretty good at knowing what to say to keep people happy. Comes from dealing with the Peacekeepers all the time on repair jobs. “Taught her to throw a punch when she was eleven,” he says, smiling a little. “Right out back here. Some guys were giving her trouble.”

Sara remembers. Rokia’d been in the shop already when Sara got there, withdrawn and quiet with a black eye and finger bruises on her wrists. Sara’d been almost 14 and working there a year and still getting used to the fact that in this neighborhood, that kind of thing wasn’t so strange. She’d been the one to haul Rokia over to tell Sal she’d lost a week’s pay and couldn’t pay for groceries, because “I’ll go around and check the dumpsters after work” was not fucking acceptable.

Sal’d been angry, had called Matt over and dragged him and Rokia out into the alley for a comprehensive lesson in how to knock somebody down. Sara’d come along of her own free will, and so she could check that Sal’d counted out money to last Rokia through the week.

Sal’s smiling now. “Nobody bothered her much after that,” he says. “She’s little but she’s tough.”

They go back to the studio after that, and Caesar and Claudius are just _thrilled_ at Sal. “I guess we know where she gets her spunk!” Caesar says, and Sara rolls her eyes.

 

It’s a couple hours after that when the Arena cameras cut to Rokia, and Sara can’t see why they’re staying on her, she’s curled up sleeping and yes, Sara would be fine with watching that for a good long while but she can’t imagine the rest of Panem much cares.

And then the camera pulls out of the building and the boy from Four is glancing around and ducking into the doorway.

Of the same building. Where Rokia is asleep, in plain sight.

And it was bad enough when it was the scrawny girl from Nine, but this kid is tall and strong and trained, and Sara’s seen him use that spear like he’s trying to be the next Finnick Odair and she’d rolled her eyes but—he knows what he’s doing.

The screen splits, as the Four boy puts his foot on the stairs and they creak, just a little bit. He’s being careful, but it’s impossible to be silent, and on the other side of the screen Rokia wakes up. She sits up, crouched on the ground as the door swings open, dashes forward as the boy raises his spear to throw, as the spear whistles past her she’s right there and she has the knife she stole in her hand and she stabs it hard, up under his ribcage. He goes limp, the hand that was moving for a knife at his belt dropping as she steps away and yanks the knife back, blood flowing out along with it. Almost before he hits the floor she’s out of the door and up to the roof, where she stops, breathing fast, eyes wild, but she’s grinning, sharp and pleased and mean. The ever-present drizzle kicks up into actual rain as the cannon fires, and she tilts her face up into it, letting it wash away blood and grime, opening her mouth to drink.

Sara sits back, her own heart racing. She’s—well, a lot of things. Impressed and excited and a little bit horrified, yes,and being completely honest, a little bit turned on. Because _damn._ That’s her _girl,_ and that was amazing.

She looks around, shakes her head and grins, and it’s like everyone else was waiting for her to see how to react, because the room erupts into laughter and high-fives, and Myriam drags Sara up and hugs her and then Rick does, and Keita, and they’re all talking at once and… holy shit. Sara’s hoped from the beginning, but now…now she’s starting to actually believe it.

 

It’s exhausting, watching day after day, and Sara’s tired—and then she smacks herself upside the head because if she’s tired, well. Rokia’s exhausted, it’s obvious to anyone by now, hollow-eyed and sluggish, moving every few hours without much purpose.

And so far it hasn’t mattered, but this afternoon the cute boy from Two, who any other year Sara’d be joking about, went down with his belly cut open when the kid from Seven surprised him out of sleep. He’s still alive, somehow, and the cameras stay away but there’s a list across the bottom of the screen with the remaining tributes and D2M is still on it.

And Rokia’s half-awake dozing, not really asleep but not quite awake, and Sara’s so tired of being scared. It’s almost over, everyone knows it, and Sara stops pretending she can stand to look away.

It’s late, so late it’s about to be early, just a couple people to keep an eye on things, when Rokia stirs, gets slowly to her feet and moves out of her hiding place. She’s moving carefully but aimlessly, checking around corners but winding around randomly, until Sara realizes she’s right by the boy from Two just before Rokia trips over him. Literally.

Sara’s first panicked thought is that it’s an act, he’s just waiting for her to come by so he can grab her. But then she actually _looks,_ and she knows that’s not true. There’s more blood there than anyone gets up from. Rokia tenses, then must realize the same thing because she stops.

Sara wants her to leave him there, get away and get safe and don’t _bother_ about him, he’ll be dead on his own soon enough. But he’s been there she doesn’t even know how many hours, and Rokia’s always been nicer than Sara is, so of course she’ll do the humane thing and put the poor kid out of his misery. She’s hesitant, miming a practice stroke across his neck as though she’s worried about hurting him, as though it matters at this point if she does it fast or not. Finally she takes a deep breath, and on the exhale she slices through skin and muscle and enough blood pours out that the kid’s heart finally stops and the canon fires.

Rokia jumps at the noise, scrambles upright so fast she has to stop to breathe before she can move, then turns and runs.

The hovercraft is still ascending with the kid’s body when Rokia stops, leans against one of the rough cinderblock walls, chest heaving. Rokia used to run for _fun_ , sometimes, or so she claimed, making the trip from her place to Sal’s running was, she said, as fast as taking the bus. She shouldn’t be winded after only a couple of blocks. She walks, after that, like it’s automatic, unthinking. She should be more careful. But Rokia makes her way to the building where the boy from Four found her. Sinks down into the same corner, knees drawn up, and squeezes her eyes closed.

“Sara?” It’s Myriam, about to start the morning shift, but Sara jumps half out of her skin anyway. She’s surprised to see sunlight coming in. She blinks fast, shakes her head to try and clear it, and looks up.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna get some sleep? I can call you if something happens.” Sara shakes her head. With D2M gone, there’s only three left in there, and logically, that means it’d be _less_ likely for someone to find Rokia, but that’s never how it goes, not at the end.

“It’ll be done before long,” Sara says, hoping it’s true, hoping she’s not counting down the last fucking hours of her best friend’s life, hoping she isn’t just deluding herself, thinking this is possible.

And before Myriam can respond, Rokia looks up, sees something, shifts toward the other wall. Where there’s an electrical socket, broken loose on the ground, and Rokia grabs it and yanks. Pulls, and pulls, and the wire keeps coming, so it’s loose somewhere inside the conduit too, and Sara just has to laugh.

She laughs hard enough tears come to her eyes, because they fucking did this last year, sneaking into a burned out building at two o’clock in the fucking morning because Rokia had the crazy idea of stripping the wires for the copper. They’d probably have been shot if the Peacekeepers saw them, but all that scrap paid the deposit for the place they’re living now—or were, until last week. And Sara has no earthly idea what Rokia plans to _do_ with the half a mile of wire she’s collecting, but Sara’s really hoping it’s something good.

It’s snares, as it turns out, a mess of knotted loops and tripwires, and Sara doesn’t recognize it so maybe they do actually give the tributes some useful training before throwing them into a death trap. And once the room’s crisscrossed with them, Rokia retreats to her spot and waits.

“Sleep,” Myriam says again. “I swear, if she so much as _moves_ , if anyone gets anywhere near her, I will wake you up.”

Sara scrubs at her eyes, rolls her neck and feels too-long-tensed muscles scream. “You swear?” she asks.

“On my life,” Myriam says, “Because I know damn well if I didn’t you’d kill me.”

“Fine,” Sara grumbles, heads for her bunk. She doesn’t expect to be able to sleep, but once she’s lying down, snug in her bunk, the rocking of the train sends her off quick.

 

When Myriam wakes her up, it’s getting dark. “They’re doing the faces and the recap and stuff. It’s just her and the boy from One now.”

Sara sits up, replays that in her head. “Wait, the final two?” she asks. Myriam nods. “Shit,” Sara hisses, and all but runs to the TV.

Everybody’s watching, as the anthem ends and the sky goes grey instead of fading all the way to darkness. The camera follows the boy from One, sword in hand, as he searches. He’s muttering under his breath now and then. The only time it rises to audible level it’s singsong, lilting. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” he calls, drops back into silence.

It seems to take an interminably long time. They cut back to Rokia once, nibbling at the last of her food, finishing her water, settled in to wait. Waiting is good, waiting means you get to pick where you fight, and Rokia has few enough advantages that Sara’s glad she at least has this one. Finally the One boy gets to Rokia’s building, with the blessedly noisy stairs, and starts up.

Rokia, for her part, comes alert almost the instant his foot hits the stairs, sliding her back up the wall till she’s standing. It looks like the room’s just strewn with junk, the random scrap and blown trash that’s everywhere in this Arena. The One boy doesn’t even hesitate before charging through the door, straight toward her. And he’s down, flat on his face with both ankles hauled sideways, wire cutting into the skin. And for all that Rokia’s been slow and sluggish for the last few days, this time she’s quick. This time she stomps on the hand that’s still holding his sword, and it takes a lot to make him let go, but fingers break eventually. His other hand moves, looking for something, but Rokia sees it, shifts to stomp on it, gets one foot on either side of his torso and hauls his head up by the hair.

Rokia can’t see his face, but Sara can. More than anything, he looks surprised.

And then Rokia drags her knife across his throat, and blood sprays out, pulsing, pooling underneath him while Rokia lets his head fall and steps away, gasping. She staggers back, hands searching until she can lean against the wall—

And the cannon fires. Trumpets blare, and the best sound of all is the hovercraft that’s descending, dropping a ladder level with the window. Rokia goes to the window, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, like she’s not even registering what she sees. But she gets it, well enough to step onto the windowsill, reach out and grab the ladder.

The ladder’s pulled up as the hovercraft climbs, the cameras spinning to give them one last look at the Arena before the light goes dark.

And then Caesar fucking Flickerman’s yelping about what an upset and some kind of shit and Sara jumps up and slams the sound off because she seriously cannot stand his voice a single second longer.

Holy shit.

Everyone around her is grinning, tensed and waiting for her to say something, but Sara’s got nothing. Just shakes her head, and starts laughing and crying, all at once. Myriam runs foward and hugs her, and then everyone’s yelling and hugging and laughing, and there’s absolutely no alcohol allowed on inter-district trains but there’s a bottle of something foul going around anyway, and Sara drinks and passes it on, shakes her head and still can’t quite believe what she just saw happen.

 

* * *

 

It’s weird: she definitely didn’t enjoy watching the Games, but now that it’s over, Sara’s not quite sure what to do with herself. There’s plenty of recaps and commentary and speculation and bullshit, but Sara doesn’t give a shit about that. She wants to see Rokia, for real, out of the Arena and in one piece and actually alive. The thing about watching your best friend slit a guy’s throat on live TV is that it’s too fucking crazy to have imagined, so it’s not like Sara’s worried, really, she just wants to see.

But when Rokia walks out onto Caesar fucking Flickerman’s stage, something’s…off. It takes a minute to figure out what it is, but when Rokia sits, pulled in a little, head down, it clicks. Ninety-nine percent of the time Rokia walks around trying to make herself look bigger than she is, tougher and stronger than a hundred-pound, 16-year-old kid has any right to be. This is the other one percent, when she’s trapped in something she can’t work her way out of and has to rely on some stranger for help, when looking like a small scared kid gets sympathy instead of derision. Her answers just confirm it. Her interview before the Games, that was Rokia, scared and pissed off and reacting. This time though, she’s hesitant, lets Caesar draw the answers out slowly, talks about how lucky she is to be here, how happy she’ll be to see her family again. But it doesn’t make sense, not here. Rokia just won the fucking Hunger Games, she shouldn’t have to be hiding like this.

It’s such a contrast to the recap. There, Rokia’s fast, decisive, determined. When you take out the long stretches of hiding in corners, it looks different to what Sara remembers. She looks like a fighter, up there on the screen, and while that’s a lot closer to the Rokia Sara knows than the little-girl act, she’d still never hurt someone who didn’t hurt her or her people first. It’s confusing, especially when the cameras turn back to Rokia and she’s still ducking her head and acting shy and downplaying everything she did as luck and some tricks she learned in training. When the broadcast ends, it leaves Sara off-balance, unable to join in the chatter and congratulations and speculation around her.

“What do you think is actually _in_ the victory parcels?” someone asks, and everyone laughs.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Rick says. “District Six, baby, we got ourselves a Victor.”

Sara bites her tongue to keep from snapping at him. She’s not theirs, she’s Rokia, she’s a smart kid and a damn good mechanic and when she’s had a couple beers she’ll sit with her head on Sara’s shoulder and laugh at Matt’s dumb jokes and only a month ago on Sara’s leave they spent a whole night sitting out on the roof and pretending nobody else existed.

In the space of a month, everything changed. In the space of one interview, Rokia’s gone from Sara’s best friend to District Six’s Victor, and it’s stupid to be sad about it but tears prickle in Sara’s eyes and she slips out.

When Myriam finds her, she’s staring out the window at the nothing that’s District Nine at night, smoking a cigarette and trying to be happy for her friend.

“What’s up?” Myriam asks, gesturing for the pack of cigarettes on Sara’s lap.

Sara tosses them over, shakes her head. “Just trying to get used to sharing, I guess,” she says.

Miriam lights her cigarette, looks back at Sara, questioning. “She’s always been…okay she’s not _mine,_ I’m not some jealous fucking husband, but she was _my friend_.”

Myriam shifts so she’s sitting next to Sara, and the bunks are narrow enough she pretty much has to put an arm around Sara’s shoulders for them both to fit. Sara leans against her anyway. “Well,” Myriam starts, slowly. “I’m not gonna say I get it, ‘cause I don’t. But well, I wouldn’t like seeing my sis out there like that, for sure.”

Sara shrugs. “She’s gonna get a house and money and the kid’s been scraping by since forever, and I should be happy for her, and I _am_ happy for her, I just—“ she swallows. “It’s all gonna be different now. I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Myriam sqeezes her shoulders. “You’ll figure it out,” she says. “You guys are crazy about each other, that doesn’t just disappear.”

Sara smiles, and it’s a little weak but it’s there. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess you’re right.”

 

They’re in Eleven when Rokia goes home. Eleven always puts Sara on edge, too many Peacekeepers, too many guns, too much dead oppressive silence in the loading zone. Anywhere else they can joke a little, but here, well, Sara doesn’t think she’s traded ten words with the whole loading crew in the almost a year she’s been doing this route. They’re behind schedule, supposed to get in last night but between one thing and another it’s four in the morning when they pull in.

Means a different crew, more used to moving pallets around then loading a train, means it takes longer, means they’re more delayed, means it’s almost ten when Sara can get away to duck inside to see the homecoming. Rokia’s halfway through some speech about how happy she is to make District Six proud, and Sara doesn’t give two shits about that, but then they bring the family up on stage and Allie and Kadi ignore any kind of protocol there was supposed to be to race toward Rokia. And that seems to flip some kind of switch, Rokia goes from distant, playacting, to warm and real, and she kneels down to hold both of them tight, her face buried in Kadi’s untamable curls. She pulls back a little, brushes tears off Allie’s cheeks, and the girls stay close enough she’s liable to trip on them, as she walks over to hug her mom and whoever the current boyfriend is. Just figures the Capitol’d want a whole happy family for the country to coo over. Too bad it’s all bullshit. Rokia holds her sisters’ hands while the Mayor gives some last thanks and welcome, and then the camera fades out.

They’re on their way to Twelve, and after that Six, but for Sara they can’t get there soon enough.

 

When they finally arrive, a couple days later, they have a day’s leave for the first time all month. Supposedly there’s higher demand at Games-time and that’s why everyone’s rushed, but Sara thinks that’s bullshit. They aren’t hauling any more than usual, so it’s probably just the Capitol trying to keep them all busy, so nobody gets any ideas about disrupting the Capitol’s favorite entertainment. In any case, the guys who’ve been around a while say it’s normal.

Sara barely takes time to drop her stuff at the barracks before heading for the Victors’ Village. The problem is, it’s back behind the Peacekeepers’ barracks, and before she’s even to that point someone stops her to ask where she thinks she’s going.

“I’m friends with Rokia,” Sara says, “The new Victor? I’ve been on the trains, I wanted to go congratulate her.”

“Only Victors and family past here,” the guy says. “She can put you on the list if it’s important.”

Sara scowls, frustrated. “She doesn’t know I’m back, I just want to tell her—“

“Ma’am, I need you to leave now,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Or I will have to report you.”

If she’s reported for—tresspassing? Whatever it is, if she’s in trouble she’s out of a job. So she backs off. “Okay,” she says, hands up, placating, “Sorry, I’ll just…I’ll just go.”

He watches her leave. Even after she turns around she can feel his eyes boring into her back.

Shit.

All this time, waiting to see Rokia again and now it’s the fucking Peacekeepers making her turn back practically in sight of the damn house? It’s crazy. Sure, it makes sense you don’t the whole damn world trying to sneak in, steal shit, who the fuck knows, but Sara hardly looks like a junkie or a thief. And how’s she supposed to _tell_ Rokia to put her on the all-clear list if she can’t _see_ her in the first place?

She heads back to the barracks. There’s a couple crews on leave right now, everybody sitting in the common room chatting, passing a bottle around, stealing each others’ cigarettes.

“Hey, Sara!” Rick calls her over. Myriam looks up, but she’s pretty occupied on the lap of some guy Sara thinks is on the lumber routes.

“Hey,” Sara says, sits down to join them. “How’s things?”

She doesn’t have to talk much after that. Plenty of other people ready to gossip, and she’s just called to chime in, confirm the stories Rick’s spinning. They order dinner in, and usually Sara’d be grateful for the change from shitty railroad food re-constituted and re-heated haphazardly whenever there’s time. Today it might as well be ration bars, for all she cares.

When the group starts to break up, she makes excuses and heads outside.

And she feels like walking, and she doesn’t have to be anywhere, so she wanders until she ends up in Rokia’s old neighborhood. And there’s no real reason to go by Rokia’s house, but she does anyway, even climbs up the downspout, just because that roof’s the last place they were alone together, last time Sara had leave, what seems like a lifetime ago.

And son of a bitch, Rokia’s sitting in the corner, staring at Sara like she’s a ghost.

It’s a long moment before Sara can say anything. “Hey, Rokia,” she gets out finally, “fancy seeing you here.” She’s trying for humor, but it doesn’t really work. Not when she can’t help staring, taking in Rokia, whole and real and _here_ , holy shit. Sara goes to sit next to her, so she’s not standing staring like an idiot.

“Hey,” Rokia says, not quite meeting Sara’s eyes.

Sara turns, reaches out to touch Rokia’s face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You’re really here,” she says, and it’s true, she’s here, she’s real, warm skin and deep dark eyes.

“Yeah, Sara, I’m really here,” Rokia says, and she tenses, just a little. Maybe after all that time alone she can’t help feeling like everyone could be an enemy, so Sara pulls her hand back, looks away.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and it might be a stupid question but she has to ask anyway.

Rokia laughs, a little jagged. “I’m sitting on a roof in the middle of the night a couple miles from where I’m supposed to be sleeping because I’m too crazy to stay indoors, but you know, sure, why not?”

Sara bites her lip, not sure what to say to that.

“Did you watch?” Rokia asks, low.

Sara looks over at her. She’s nervous. “Yeah, pretty much constantly,” Sara says, “We had it on all the time in the crew rooms.”

“And you still want to sit here with me?” It’s probing, almost accusing.

“Rokia—of course I do.”

“It isn’t ‘of course’ and you know it,” Rokia snaps, looks away.

This was not really how Sara’d imagined a reunion would go. She’s not sure quite what she was expecting, really, but it was a lot closer to everything being the same as before. That was probably stupid.

Sara lights a cigarette, for something to do, because it seems like she keeps doing and saying all the wrong things. She passes it over, like they’ve done a hundred times before at late jobs or bars or here on this same roof, and Rokia takes it, her fingers brushing Sara’s.

It’s a rhythm, and it’s comfortable, and Rokia seems like she’s relaxing, so when the first one’s done Sara lights another, glancing over at Rokia. Because this would be the part where Rokia gives her shit for wasting money on a stupid habit, if things were anything like normal.

“Hey, if you’re not pissed at me for killing people I can hardly get mad about you smoking too much,” Rokia says, and it’s tight and tense but there’s a hint of the exasperation Sara’s used to, so she’ll take it.

They finish that one, and Rokia picks up a knife from where it’d been lying by her hip, apparently. Flips it open, closed, open, closed, and Sara watches the movement. It’s nothing new, Sara’s pretty sure that’s the knife she got from Sal and Rokia’s never been great at sitting still, but…well. It’s a weapon, and Sara can’t see it as anything else now. Finally Rokia sighs, closes the thing and sticks in into her pocket.

It’s starting to get light. Sara can see better now, which means she can see Rokia’s eyes are still tired, red-rimmed and too deep in her face, her cheekbones too sharp. Of course, she’ll still be recovering, probably nobody walks out of the Arena and is back to normal right away, but…

Rokia gets up, paces up and down the roof. Sara’s at a loss. “Rokia,” she asks finally, getting up and meeting her in the middle of the roof. “What do you want me to do?”

Rokia stops, looks at her, and half-falls into Sara’s arms. Her nose is cold against Sara’s neck, breath warm, and Sara holds her close and fights back tears. Rokia steps back pretty soon, but she’s looking up at Sara with the beginnings of a smile, so Sara rests her hands on Rokia’s shoulders, bends down to kiss her, quick, stepping back before Rokia can get too spooked. “You look like hell, you know.” Sara says, aiming for teasing.

Rokia shrugs, like it’s not important.

“Can I walk you home?” Sara asks.

“You don’t have to be somewhere?” Rokia’s trying for joking, too.

Sara just looks at her. “Come on, you, let’s go.”

It’s quiet, or as quiet as it ever really gets around here. The Peacekeepers wave them through, and they walk through a gate and into the Victors’ Village.

Rokia’s house is pale blue, surrounded by a grassy yard, and bigger than Sara’d even imagined.

“Nice place,” she says, stepping up onto the porch, because she’s not going to admit to being _too_ impressed.

“Yeah, I guess.” Rokia shrugs, she looks—worried, somehow. “Come over sometime when the girls are up, I’ll give you the tour.”

“Sure thing,” Sara says. She shouldn’t be disappointed. She should be grateful she got to see Rokia at all—she _is_ grateful, she just doesn’t want to leave.

Finally Rokia steps forward and kisses Sara, just a brush of lips before she steps back. “It’s okay,” Rokia says. “Go.”

It’s _not_ okay. But Sara needs to get back, ought to get _some_ sleep before they do their checks and head out again.

“I’ll come back,” she says.

Rokia smiles at that, almost looks like herself. “You better,” she says.

It’s not a joke, and Rokia needs to know that. “I always will,” Sara says, locking eyes with Rokia.

Rokia looks down. Takes Sara’s hand and squeezes once, then turns to unlock the door.

Sara’s halfway back to the barracks when she realizes she should’ve asked Rokia to put her on the list for the Peacekeepers.

 

There’s a few people up already when Sara gets in. Myriam’s one of them, looking pleased with herself, so probably whatever she was up to last night worked out. And Sara was really hoping to slip through without incident, but when Myriam sees her she looks positively smug. “Sara,” she calls, and Sara sighs and heads over. Myriam looks her up and down. “You saw your girl,” she announces.

Sara can’t help the goofy grin she’s pretty sure she’s got right now. “Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” Myriam says. Looks some more, then says, “Go on, get some sleep.”

Sara slips into her room, kicks off her shoes and curls up in her narrow bunk. It’s not okay yet, she thinks, as she’s falling asleep, but it will be.


End file.
